Last man standing
by Claire.CZ
Summary: A story about Callen's confrontation with the last living apter 1: A man wakes up in a hospital in London, he's screaming in Czech. Who is he and what happened in Prague? Chapter 2: Comescu reveals his plan. Chapter 3: Confrontation in Prague. Chapter 4: Police investigation. Chapter 5: At the docks. Chapter 6: Remembering. Chapter 7: Answers. Chapter 8: The End. Complete
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** This story is at first not chronological, it sort of follows the main character's confusion after a concussion. But everything will be clear as the story progress. (As long as there's no new date indicated – even after a dotted line – it's still the same day.)

I like stories where details or some information about a city / a country play a role or just create an interesting background. A masterful example is knirbenrots' story Detour. I took the opportunity the canon has so generously offered us and have set a part of the story in Prague.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the recognizable characters. They all belong to Shane Brennan.

I would like to thank ClaudiaRain for beta-reading.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Introduction**

 _Wednesday 17th, afternoon_

''Suction, please,'' said a man behind a mask in operation room 2.

''Hey, he's waking up. Increase the dose,'' he instructed the anesthesiologist.

''I'd rather not do that. We can't be sure whether he's allergic to some components of the anesthesia or not. He didn't have any documents with him, when the paramedics brought him in. And we didn't have any time to do the tests. If you hurry up, we won't need to increase the dose,'' the anesthesiologist explained.

''So because of your laziness I have to race like Usain Bolt, perfect,'' the surgeon replied grumpily.

The anesthesiologist recognized a playful tone behind the grumpiness but he still felt the need to defend himself. ''He really didn't have anything with him. No ID, not a single card. We don't even know his name. We couldn't find him in our patients' database... Actually he had something. A completely useless, wet and broken flash drive.''

''We are closing the wound,'' the surgeon announced.

''In a few weeks, you'll be fine, Mr. Flash drive,'' he softly said to his unconscious patient.

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 _Monday 15th, in the night_

''Ladies and gentlemen, enjoy the holidays,'' stated Hetty Lange.

''Mr Deeks, I trust you that you won't drown in the ocean while trying to impress Miss Blye with your surfing skills.''

Deeks and Kensi blushed simultaneously.

''Enjoy the precious time with your families,'' Hetty adressed Sam, Nell and Eric.

''And come back safely,'' now she looked first at Callen then at the others.

''Enjoy the holidays, Hetty,'' Callen said.

''See you in one week, exactly,'' Hetty stated

''It's Sunday, Hetty, you sure you want to see us next Sunday? I've always thought that work begins on Monday,'' Callen grinned.

''Technically, Mr. Callen, it's Monday,'' Hetty corrected him.

''Yeah, sure, on the other side of the world.'' The others started laughing because it usually didn't happen that Callen lost track of time during investigations.

''It's after midnight, Mr. Callen,'' Hetty said innocently and Callen looked at his watch surprised.

''I hope you won't blame me for your snail's pace during the investigation,'' Hetty added with a small, almost mischievous smile.

''Come on, G, you can't win against her,'' Sam advised him smiling.

''G, you really don't want to go with us? I'm offering for the last time,'' Sam was trying to convince his partner.

''Sam, I'll be fine. Alone. Go home, be with Michelle and Kam, enjoy the free time.''

''OK, if you need anything, call me,'' Sam gave up. ''I'm a big boy, I don't need a mother,'' Callen groaned.

''Behave, G. Don't make me come to rescue you again, in my free time,'' Sam warned.

''It's holidays, Sam. Means no work. Means no risks. It's logic like one plus one. As a mathlete you should understand that,'' Callen grinned.

''Junior math olympian,'' Sam corrected his partner needlessly. ''See you in a week, G.'' The holidays came at the right time. They would spend some time together as a family again and then they'd visit Aiden. And in the meantime, maybe, his partner would manage to stay safe.

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Callen lightheartedly convinced Sam that everything would be fine, but in fact he felt restless. Something was about to happen. He just didn't know whether it would be good or bad. Given that he had always been the glass half empty guy, Callen expected something bad to happen.

When he lost a third game of chess on his computer, Callen grabbed his gun and went to the beach. It was tempting to swim in the ocean alone in the moonlight.

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The man calmly sipped his coffee. He, again, enjoyed the unique panorama of the city: the castle, the bridge with statues from the Middle Ages, the calmly flowing river, the baroque church with a green cupola, the lights...

He was prepared. Four years ago he wasn't. Since then he had come a long way. He had done everything he could. He planned this mission to perfection. Today was the beginning.

Then he looked at a photo lying on the table. The photo showed a tall muscular man who was lifting a little girl in the air. The man in the photo was smiling at the girl and you could clearly see dimples in his face.

He carefully placed the photo into his pocket and looked at the panorama again. He was ready to kill, he was ready to die. He was a Comescu.

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 _Thursday 18th, 3:00 a.m._

''Doctor,'' a nurse gently placed her hand on the shoulder of a man sleeping in the on call room.

''Doctor Nemec, wake up,'' she said hesitantly.

''I'm really sure it's not morning yet,'' was the sleepy reply.

''It's not,'' she smiled at him, ''but we need you in the ICU.''

He was already getting up, because regardless of how tired they are that's what doctors always do whenever a nurse wakes them up. Priorities, quick reactions, patients - med school and fifteen years of practice taught him well.

After a moment he slowed his quick pace. ''Wait. ICU? No surgery? You have no doctors in the ICU?'' the surgeon asked needlessly.

The nurse didn't say anything.

''Is something wrong with one of the patients I operated on?'' he asked slightly alarmed.

''Everything's alright. I just, .. we just thought... You are a Czech, right? You do speak Czech?'' she wanted to make sure.

''It's 3 am! And you want to talk about … Ok, I am Czech and I dared to penetrate the ancient institution, St. Mark's hospital in London,'' Doctor Antony Nemec finished his sarcastic speech. He was usually a kind and cheerful person but no-one can expect this at 3 am.

''No, it's just this patient. I thought... He's screaming. He woke up after the anesthesia had worn off. And he won't let us touch him. And we don't understand him... Do you remember when you were talking in Czech with us? You told us about the letter you have only in Czech and nobody else can pronounce it? I think this is it... I have a good music ear, so I remember it...'' nurse Amanda explained in one breath.

''You mean ' _ř'_. _T **ř** istat **ř** icett **ř** i st **ř** íbrných st **ř** íkaček_,'' he smiled and recited a Czech tongue-twister.

''Why didn't you tell me earlier? Who is he anyway, the patient?'' Antony asked.

''A man, around forty, short brown hair, he was brought in here yesterday,'' nurse Amanda trailed off because he didn't seem to recognize the man in question. Unlike Amanda, who was so young and saw the patients as people, he saw them as cases first.

''Multiple fractures of the right calf bone, open fracture of the left femur, stab wound to the right shoulder, concussion,'' she recited.

This time he immediately recognized the patient. ''Our Mr. Flash drive may be a Czech. Who would have thought...'' He quickened his pace again.

Nurse Amanda and Dr. Antony Nemec entered together the ICU.

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'' _Pomoc. Nechte mě._ ** _Ř_** _ekněte mi, kde jsem. Kde jsem?_ '' the patient shouted.

''You were right,'' Antony swiftly informed the nurses.

''Calm down. You are in a hospital. You were injured. Nobody will hurt you. Calm down,'' Antony tried. He used a pen light to check the patient's pupils.

… _green cupola … smell like at a river … pain … the green cupo... he can't think … pain ...he needs to escape … a photo, it's unclear … he doesn't understand what is going on … he is sooo tired … he needs to -_

The injured man didn't respond. So Antony shifted into Czech. Before he could finish his soothing speech, the residual effects of anesthesia won over their unknown patient and he fell asleep again. The nurses released their breath.

''It's for the best now. He's stressed. Have an analgesic ready, just in case,'' Antony instructed them.

''He didn't even tell me his name... Strange. Maybe it's just the anesthesia...'' the doctor said somewhat sceptically.

''Schedule a neuro check tomorrow or the day after tomorrow,'' he instructed nurse Amanda. ''Either way we should find out who he is, our Mr. Flash drive,'' Antony decided.

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 _Thursday 18th_

''He's not answering. It's Thursday and he hasn't called one single time,'' Sam sighed.

''Callen? I'd be more worried if he did,'' Michelle smiled. ''But you'll still be trying to contact him.''

''I just don't understand why he has to turn off the phone completely,'' Sam complained.

''You say this every time and then you almost cancel holidays and want to return to LA,'' Michelle reminded him. ''Callen can take care of himself, he's alright. And you can tell him off on Monday,'' she reassured him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the recognizable characters, they all belong to Shane Brennan.

My biggest thank you to ClaudiaRain for beta-reading.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 _Monday 15th_

The photo of a tall muscular man with dimples on his face lifting a lovely little girl into the air served as a lure in his revenge plan. A very expensive lure, but he could afford to pay the price for it and for Callen's e-mail address.

The illegal business of his family still functioned albeit to a smaller extent.

Well, _familie_ , most of the business was now led by the associates of his family. The massacre in the beach house in Romania four years ago hit his family very hard. Further encounters with law enforcement – for instance NCIS or Hawaii 5-0 - didn't help either.

He had found the person who was to blame. He had never met Special Agent G Callen personally but now he was prepared.

When the little old witch and Callen's team attacked their house in Prague he was in a gym. Quite ironically because he didn't exercise or work out regularly. He had always been more interested in other activities he could enjoy. But the visit to the gym saved his life.

His brother didn't have such luck. He was shot. Aunt Alexa was furious, she wanted to get revenge, but before he arrived to Romania and could help his family, he heard that most of them were murdered.

In four years he had lost aunt Alexa, Vasile, Dracule, Vlad and many others, plus the illusion of Ilena.

But he had gained something, too – self-confidence, trust in his own abilities, knowledge of tactics, toughness, cynicism and some muscles. And he was ready to use everything in order to get even with Special Agent G Callen.

Gracian Comescu looked at the photo one last time, copied it on a flash drive and clicked on send. His mission began.

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The ocean was cool, chilly maybe. The water woke up Callen's senses. He heard every noise, perceived every change. He was on alert. Paradoxically he was relaxed at the same time because he was in control, nothing could surprise him here.

After a while he decided to swim back to the beach and go home. When he emerged from the ocean, he suddenly felt the urge to run across the beach just to be quickly somewhere else, anywhere else, just not there. He was cold and absolutely alone on the beach.

In this moment he remembered, vividly, how he had been on the beach in Romania, the sun had been shining, he had been making sandcastles and his mother had been shot. Back then he, too, had felt so horribly alone and cold inside.

He tightly squeezed his gun and hurried up, he was almost running. _''No, it's crazy. Everything is ok. It's just a damn beach, one of numerous beaches in California. I can't be afraid of beaches. That would even trump Sam's fear of clowns. It's just a beach,''_ Callen tried to convince himself.

Deep breath. ''I'm calm,'' he repeated a few times aloud. _''It was about time, otherwise the legends about my paranoia could become real,''_ Callen thought sarcastically.

When Callen arrived home, he wanted to continue playing the unfinished game of chess on his computer. He just routinely checked his e-mail, deleted a few unwanted advertisements and briefly registered new guidelines from work – this could wait.

Callen's attention grabbed an e-mail with a subject written in Czech, it said 'Invitation to Prague, life or death?' – _'_ _Pozvánka do Prahy, život nebo smrt?_ _'_

He clicked on the e-mail. The message was completely empty. Callen clicked on the attachment and immediately saw a photo. ''Sam,'' he almost shouted. ''And Kam,'' he added alarmed. ''Comescu,'' was the third name, and Callen pronounced it grimly.

Callen carefully looked at the photo again and read a message in small print: I'm sure you'll come and won't inform anyone because you want them to stay alive.

In fact, Comescu didn't have to add this message to the photo. Callen was absent-mindedly packing a backpack and didn't even think about informing anyone about it. He wanted to deal with Comescu alone and to end the pointless blood feud. And above all he needed to keep Sam and his family safe.

Callen was quickly going through a pile of ID cards, credit cards, driving licences... "Michajl Sokolov. Nobody would notice it. A Russian lawyer flying from America to the Czech Republic. Perfect cover," Callen muttered. He bought an air ticket to Prague – Václav Havel Airport, copied the photo on a flash drive and left the house. When he was far enough from his house, he took a cab. And then another.

If Callen paid closer attention to the photo he would notice that it was taken at least four or five years ago, Kamran was almost a baby there...

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 _Tuesday 16th_

Gracian Comescu checked his guns for the third time. An older man approached him: ''Everything is alright. We are ready.'' He gestured at a row of big armed men.

''Gracian, calm down, you don't have to worry. It's our usual business. He comes, gives us the goods, we give him money, they beat him, shoot him, hide the body... We move on,'' the man said calmly.

''It's not that easy, Constantin,'' Comescu replied.

All the men believed that today was just a normal day, that they would rob a trusting businessman of his goods and instead of paying him, they would murder him.

But the men, who were paid for doing and not thinking, sensed that today was something different. It didn't have much to do with thinking, it was just instinct. Instinct that was much needed in their dangerous games. However, it was something Comescu didn't take into account while planning this scenario.

''What's not so easy?'' one of the armed men, clearly their leader and spokesman, asked roughly.

Comescu didn't say anything.

''Who's the businessman, is there a problem?'' the gunman asked even more harshly.

Comescu lost his temper: ''Yes, there is a problem. Shut up. He murdered my family!''

''Ok, and we'll kill him,'' the rough man said laconically and everything would go according to Comescu's plan...

But Constantin, Comescu's trusted co-worker, familiar with most of his affairs, yelled: ''You want to... You want to kill him? Kill the American? You are crazy! He's an agent. You don't remember? They will find us. They will kill us. Just like they killed Dracule and Doamnă Alexa*. You can't, you can't! That's insane,'' Constantin seized Comescu by the collar and was almost shaking him.

Comescu quickly calmed down, he needed his plan to function. ''For you it's just business as usual.''

''Yeah, he's got goods to sell,'' Constantin ironically answered.

''Without the goods part. You all get your commission though,'' Comescu retorted.

The eight armed men discussed the situation heatedly. ''We can't do that. Killing naïve Czech businessmen is one thing, but an American agent? It's too dangerous. They will find us. They'll know it was you,'' the spokesman of the group announced.

''Nonsense. America's not as almighty as you think. It's on the other side of the world! They'll certainly send only a small team to investigate. What's the death of one agent? Besides, before we return to the business here, you'll go on a short vacation to Romania and I'll visit London,'' Comescu showed them an airplane ticket as if this could change their decision.

''No, when you solve your situation, we can continue in our successful cooperation,'' the men stated and then they left.

''Gracian, you know that I like you, you are like my son, but this is a mistake. You should forget, not seek revenge. You know how much trouble and sadness it has already brought to us. Don't do it, that's the only thing I can tell you,'' Constantin said sadly.

''So you won't help me?'' Comescu challenged him.

''Gracian, please, you have to understand me... I'll pray for you.''

''I don't need your help, if you don't want to offer it. I am a Comescu. I can do it alone,'' he shouted.

He was alone in their house in the center of Prague. His plan failed but he wouldn't give up. He was the only Comescu that could finish what had begun in WWII.

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Somewhere on his way to the airport Callen began thinking rationally again. No doubt, a Comescu or Comescus were behind this e-mail and threat. He had to take this seriously. The Comescu family were some of the worst criminals he had ever met, which meant he had to make sure personally that Sam and his family were safe and would stay that way.

Callen couldn't call Sam just out of the blue. He never called him when they had holidays and especially not when he knew that Sam was with his family. Sam would also immediately get suspicious.

It wasn't very difficult for Callen to make a few phone calls and find out that Sam was safely enjoying time with Michelle, Kam and Aiden in a hotel in New York. Both Sam and Michelle were exceptional agents, so Callen was almost sure that there was no immediate danger. But he couldn't risk not going to Prague. Something would happen there. Another threat, blackmail, a trap... He had to stay focused and concentrate.

His plane landed safely in Prague. Callen had been in Prague several times, always on business. Despite this he managed to notice the exceptional beauty of the city. The panorama with the castle, the Vltava river, the Charles bridge with statues from the Middle Ages, the baroque St. Nicholas church with a green cupola...

Today, Callen wasn't wasting time. He would never forgive himself should something happen to Sam or his family. He needed a gun, ammunition and a knife. He knew where to buy these, he also knew where to find Comescu. He remembered their safe house in detail. He didn't even consider the possibility that someone else might have been behind the threat. His instinct was always right.

* * *

* doamnă (Romanian) = madame

 _If anyone wondered what the Czech tongue-twister (chapter 1) meant: Třistatřicettři stříbrných stříkaček (stříkalo přes třistatřicettři stříbrných řek) - 333 silver fire engines (sprayed water across 333 silver rivers)._

 _Every fanfiction writer wants to receive some feedback in order to know what was good and what could be better, so please consider leaving a review. Thank you._


	3. Chapter 3

I don't own any of the recognizable characters, they all belong to Shane Brennan.

Thank you, ClaudiaRain, for beta-reading.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 _Thursday 18th_

A nurse entered room 514. ''Doctor Nemec,'' she greeted, surprised at the man in the visitor's chair.

''Ah, good morning, Carin,'' he stopped writing.

''I'm just here to take his temperature,'' she said.

''How is he?'' the nurse asked gesturing to the patient.

''He's sleeping. He hasn't woken up since I got here at 3 in the morning. Stats are good, just the concussion was severe. The incisions look fine, too. We'll do an X-ray check tomorrow,'' Antony Nemec replied tiredly.

''Go home, you had a long shift, you should rest,'' nurse Carin suggested.

''We don't know his name, anything. And he probably isn't John Doe, more like Pepa Novák,'' Antony sighed.

The nurse didn't understand. ''Who?''

''A Czech John Doe, he was shouting in Czech so we assume that he might be a Czech,'' Antony explained.

''Though... of course... I must have been sleeping that I didn't notice it,'' Antony muttered disjointedly. ''He speaks Czech, quite well, sure, but he's most definitely not a native speaker. We are back at the beginning with our Mr. Flash drive.'' This time Antony didn't clarify the nickname.

''You still should go home,'' nurse Carin smiled at him.

''I'm just writing reports. I can just as well do it here. He didn't react to English, maybe he doesn't understand and I'm the only one who speaks Czech here.''

Carin smiled at him again, Doctor Nemec was really dedicated to his job. ''I'll bring you some tea.''

''Thank you.''

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Soon after the nurse left, the patient woke up. ''Was ist denn los? Wo sind wir? Ich muss weg. Es ist gefährlich...''

 _'German. For a change,'_ Antony thought. He understood German quite well but didn't want to risk using the language actively. He tried English again. _'Mr_ _._ _Flash drive seems to be more alert this time, maybe he'll understand,'_ he thought.

''You are in a hospital. Do you understand me?''

The patient heard everything like a long lasting echo in a slow-motion scene. ''Yes, hospital,'' he managed to say.

''You are safe, there's nothing dangerous,'' Antony reacted to the patient's speech in German, when he claimed that something was dangerous. ''Everything is alright,'' he reassured the patient.

''It is?'' the patient asked confused.

''What do you think is not alright?'' Antony tried carefully.

''I... I don't know.''

''Never mind. Are you from Germany or the Czech Republic?''

''You think? I, no, … I don't know.''

Antony saw that Mr. Flash drive was so tired that he even wasn't alarmed by the fact that he didn't remember anything. ''I'll let you rest, just... What's your name?''

''My name?'' the patient almost whispered and fell asleep.

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Antony thought for a while and dialed a number afterwards. ''Security, come to the room 514, please.''

''Yes, doctor, what do you need?'' asked an older man in a uniform when he appeared a few minutes later in the room.

''I think you should guard this patient.''

''What happened? Why?''

''He was found stabbed and beaten at the docks. He didn't have anything with him. And I mean it literally. Apart from a flash drive. He speaks Czech, German and English, so far I know. And he doesn't remember anything, not even his own name,'' Antony summed up.

Then he continued quietly to himself: ''I mean he has a severe head injury but there's also a slim possibility that he pretends the loss of memory. These cases are always tricky... No, he's not pretending, he's very confused. When he's awake he's scared of something. He asks where he is all the time and repeats that something is dangerous.''

''Umm, complicated story. I can spare a guard,'' the security chief decided.

''And we should probably contact the police and report the case. I wonder why they haven't been here already. Though it's possible that nobody knows about it. We can't wait 'til he remembers what happened. The police need to search for the traces now, or whatever they do,'' Antony said.

The security guard smiled knowingly: ''You think he may take off before the police question him.'' ''No, I really don't think he's gonna run away with _two_ broken legs,'' Antony sarcastically replied.

''It's for his own good as I see it, somebody attacked him, we can assume, he's worried about his own safety and he's in no condition to defend himself,'' Antony continued in a more peaceful tone.

''You've clearly spent some time with him. Any suggestion who he is? Just to pass it on to the police, you know,'' the security guard took interest in the unknown patient.

''No, I just think he's either a very good guy or a very bad guy. All those gunshot wounds, fractures and other wounds – this can't be a coincidence. So he may be a dangerous criminal or someone from law enforcement...''

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Prague had always been special for him. Sure, he was always here on business but once, once he met a wonderful girl here. It was many years ago. She was young, intelligent, funny, adventurous, full of life. Even though he was taught not to, he fell in love with her. However, their relationship was short lived. He had to return home and she stayed in Prague.

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 _a few months ago_

He certainly had some flaws, but also many skills. One of them was the ability to find pieces of information he needed. He knew whom to ask, where to ask. So he found his long lost love, Alžběta, her name was Alžběta. Like Elizabeth, but sweeter, softer. The documents and photos, which were carefully arranged on his table, revealed that she was getting a divorce.

But the big news was something else – she had a son. Even though everyone could see the photos, not many people could guess who the boy's father was. He could, he did the math, he compared the birth certificate, his own memories and dates of his stay in Prague. And he was able to obtain unnoticed a sample of the boy's DNA. Now he was sure, it was his son. Pavel. - So similar... When he was dating her, he was Paul, just for her.

He had decided. He knocked on her door. ''Ahoj, Alžběto.''

She recognized him immediately. ''Paul, what are you doing here? After so many years... What do you want? How can you just come here? How dare you?'' she asked incredulously.

''I want to meet my son,'' he simply announced.

It was a good decision. He met his son. He talked to him. He showed him how to shoot, how to fish, how to run effectively, how to box and fight, how to hide things in unexpected places, how to escape, how to not tell the truth. He taught him everything he knew.

He didn't reconcile his relationship with Alžběta, although he could feel that both of them wanted to. He had a task, a mission to complete and he couldn't allow himself any distractions.

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 _Tuesday 16th_

Gracian Comescu was sitting at the table in his house in Prague. He checked his gun for the fourth time. Alone. He was absolutely alone but he was still as determined to kill Callen as he was two hours ago, when he still thought he could rely on his co-workers. He knew Callen would come. In this regard the agent was predictable. He would never want to endanger his friends' lives.

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Callen quickly walked through the city. He avoided places with the most tourists. He didn't need a city plan, Comescu's house was like a magnet for him. He approached the house, knocked on the door and took the gun out of his pocket.

''Comescu, we haven't had the pleasure of meeting personally before, I suppose, given that you are still alive,'' Callen greeted through the closed door.

Comescu opened the door, gestured with his gun and invited Callen inside.''I'm so pleased to meet you.''

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''Welcome to Prague and welcome to our family center,'' Comescu announced confidently. Perhaps more confidently than he really felt.

''What do you want, Comescu? Don't you dare involve S.. my partner or his family into this. He has nothing to do with it,'' Callen hissed.

''You are mistaken, he has something to do with it,'' Comescu watched with satisfaction how Callen was boiling with inner anger.

''Oh, forgive me, he had something to do with it. Your partner served as an invitation to Prague. I don't care for him anymore,'' Comescu stated icily.

Maybe it wasn't wise to tell Callen this so early but he didn't want to waste any time. Really, Comescu had absolutely no interest in Callen's co-worker. He even didn't know his name. He just bought that photo because they said it was a perfect tool that would make Callen do what anyone wanted. Sam had fulfilled his task.

Now, the Romanian had a gun and Callen - his greatest enemy - was standing in front of him. Comescu saw flashbacks of his relatives shot to death in the beachhouse in Romania. Callen quickly realized that Sam was in no real danger. He, on the other hand, was trapped in the house with Comescu, who was pointing a gun at him.

Callen mirrored Comescu's moves and pointed a gun at him. He saw flashbacks, too. He saw his mother, who had been murdered on the beach in Romania.

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Two gunshots rang out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 _Tuesday 16th_

No-one was dead or seriously injured. Was it emotions that influenced the shots? Or was it determination to punish the opponent more, to get revenge, that prevented both of them from choosing this ''easy solution''?

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Clenched fists, blood, falls, groans, kicks, hits. Silence.

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Constantin was restless. He was still thinking about Gracian. He liked him. Constantin had been an 'employee' of the Comescus for so long that he considered them his family. Gracian was like a son to him. He didn't agree with his current plan but he still wanted to make sure that everything was alright.

If so, the house should be empty. Gracian would be on his way to the airport and Callen, well, his body, shouldn't be there either.

Constantin stopped his car by the 'Comescu house' and opened the door. He immediately saw two men laying on the floor in the entrance hall. Maybe he could save the situation! Both of them were breathing. Callen wasn't dead, which meant that Gracian wouldn't be a primary target of any serious investigation conducted by American agencies.

He left Callen on the floor, Gracian needed his help. Constantin thought that if he managed to get Gracian on the plane to London, he would be far from danger.

''Gracian, wake up, wake up, come on,'' he urged him. Comescu opened his eyes and was so relieved to see his trusted partner that he even didn't say a word about their earlier dispute.

Comescu successfully tried to stand up, Constantin cleaned and dressed the most serious wounds. There wasn't time for more. They had to escape from the house and Gracian had to catch the plane.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Callen finally came to awareness. He immediately remembered where he was and how he was fighting with Comescu. _But was it a few moment_ _s_ _, minutes or hours ago?_ He slowly sat up. His head was killing him but nothing was broken, Callen concluded after he had inspected his body. For a moment he was surprised that he was alive. Both of them fired a gun after all.

Now, he saw the two guns on the floor. ' _Comescu didn't take his gun?'_ The even more important question was: _'Where is Comescu? He obviously isn't dead...'_

Then Callen noticed a phone. _'Maybe he called for help. Maybe there is a trace hidden somewhere.'_ Callen pressed a button which automatically dialed the last number. Prague – Václav Havel Airport.

It took some time, patience, switching of languages and identities, but he got his information. Comescu was flying to London. Actually he was flying as Mr. Andrej Grigorescu. Callen's alias Michajl Sokolov immediately booked an airplane ticket to London, too.

This game wasn't over. Except it wasn't a game.

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 _Thursday 18th, evening_

Dr. Antony Nemec was tired to the bone. His shift ended a long time ago, he even caught up on his paperwork, but he was still stubbornly staying in the hospital. Mr. Flash drive was a mystery and above all they had something in common. Both spoke Czech. Antony was a Czech, Mr. Flash drive probably not, but still it was a connection.

Antony operated on Mr. Flash drive, he had helped him, but felt that he could – and wanted to – give him more. His real name for starters.

Maybe his former classmates from the Charles University in Prague, now successful doctors, could help him. _'Not many patients had survived such multiple serious injuries, mainly gunshot wounds. There had to be a hit in a database, a record, an x-ray... There was a chance that Mr_ _._ _Flash drive was treated in a Czech hospital...'_ Antony speculated.

Antony spent the next hour calling his friends in the Czech Republic and asking them for help. Unfortunately, trying and searching didn't bring any results. The man in question had probably never been in a Czech hospital, so for the time-being he still had just the stupid nickname Mr. Flash drive.

''You really can't help me?'' Antony asked the sleeping man. ''I don't have any other ideas,'' he sighed then.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

 _Friday 19th_

''Doctor Nemec, the police are here,'' a nurse announced. ''I told them that they couldn't speak with the patient. But maybe you could tell them something. You know more than him, at least right now,'' the nurse continued.

''We received your information that you admitted a man who was potentially a victim of a crime,'' a policeman recited.

''Yes, he was beaten and stabbed in the shoulder, he has fractures of both legs... Unfortunately we don't know much more.''

''Let's see what he tells us,'' the other policeman decided.

''Wait,'' Antony stopped him. ''I thought the nurse had already told you. The patient is in no condition to be questioned now. He's on strong pain medication and he has suffered a head injury. He can't remember anything.''

''Memory loss? Is there at least something you know?'' the policeman asked slightly annoyed.

''He was found at the old docks. With no documents, apart from his clothes he had only a flash drive with him. It's completely destroyed. That was all in our report,'' Dr. Nemec replied shortly.

''Mmm, it doesn't bring us any closer. There aren't many cameras... It was probably just an unimportant fight between local criminals. Who else would do this,'' the policeman stated.

''So that's it, that's your conclusion?'' Antony asked and didn't try to conceal his disagreement.

''There's nothing much to do,'' the officer lightly concluded. ''Ok, we can try to identify him by his finger prints,'' the second officer allowed.

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''We don't have his finger prints in our database. Sorry, we can't help you identify the person,'' a tech informed Antony.

''So he's not a criminal?''

''He hasn't been investigated or convicted, to be more precise. Look, he's probably homeless or a criminal, who's been careful so far, or is just at the beginning of his career,'' the tech advised him.

''Unless he tells us something, we don't have enough evidence to open an investigation,'' the policeman announced.

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''How did it go?'' nurse Amanda wanted to know.

''Idiots,'' Antony wasn't very polite while evaluating the effort of the police. ''A homeless man with a perfectly tailored shirt? A criminal without a record but with healed multiple gunshot wounds? A local criminal who doesn't understand English? Yeah, that makes perfect sense.'' And he added quietly: ''It's up to you Mr. Flash drive. Come on, wake up.''

Although Antony didn't expect any reaction, the patient was slowly waking again. ''Let him talk first,'' Antony instructed the nurse in a whisper.

The patient was confusedly staring at the white wall. ''Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? Tu dois partir. Cours vite...'' Amanda looked at Antony questioningly.

''What has happened? You have to leave. Run fast," he translated.

As had happened before, the patient quickly fall asleep again. Antony just checked his pupils. ''French. Thank god my wife comes from France. But seriously let's hope he's not too big a polyglot. I'm running out of languages,'' he muttered.

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 _Friday 19th, afternoon_

''We should reduce the dose of painkillers. He'll be in pain but hopefully he'll be more responsive and his thinking may be clearer,'' Antony decided.

He heard rhythmic beeping. He smelled disinfectant. He didn't open his eyes, instead he shut them more tightly. Pain was everywhere. He tried to move his legs, his arm, his head. It hurt too much. He groaned softly. ''What... What is... Stop. What do you want?'' he asked breathlessly.

''Calm down. You are in a hospital. You are safe. I know you are in pain. We need to do some tests and then we'll give you the meds,'' Antony reassured the patient. The man opened his eyes and carefully looked around the room. It really looked like a hospital and he relaxed a bit.

''Do you remember this room? You've been awake a few times.''

''No... How long I've been here?''

''For three days,'' Antony replied truthfully.

''What's happened? I need to go,'' the patient insisted.

''They found you at the docks. You were seriously injured. You need to stay for some time, your legs are broken, you have a concussion,'' Antony tried to convince his patient.

''Do you remember what happened before you were brought in here?'' Antony asked.

Only in this moment the man tried to really concentrate, to remember and he found that he couldn't. Antony could see panic in his patient's eyes.

''Green cupola... river... photo..., I can't! ... I can't remember...''

''Don't worry, it'll come, you have a concussion as I said. Let's start with your name,'' the doctor suggested. ''I.. I can't... what's going on?''

He had a feeling that he shouldn't ask, that his opponent shouldn't have the advantage of knowing that he couldn't remember - but he needed to know. And right now the only way was to ask directly: ''Where are we, doctor?''

Usually it were doctors who asked patients about names, times and places – just as part of quick neurochecks - and expected answers but Antony calmly answered: ''St Mark's Hospital, London.''

''London?'' the patient was shocked. ''I assumed...,'' he went quiet.

''Did you assume that you were in Prague?''

''Why would I be in Prague?'' the man asked incredulously.

''You spoke Czech. Když jste se poprvé probudil po operaci,'' Antony explained and supplied additional information that it was the first time after he woke up from the surgery. This way Antony unobtrusively tested whether the patient understood or not.

''Surgery. Anesthesia. Explains a lot,'' the patient said.

''Then you spoke German and French.''

''What did I say?'' the man asked alarmed. He didn't know why but hundreds of tiny voices in his head were shouting at him that it was important to always control what he was saying.

''It didn't make much sense. You were scared of something and wanted to know what had happened. You urged someone to leave. Now you should rest, everything will get better with time.''

Antony registered that the patient still wasn't satisfied.

''What are you thinking about? Even a small detail may help you remember, don't suppress them,''

Antony advised him. The patient - f _or how many times today?_ \- felt, that he was doing something that wasn't usual for him, but he still voiced his confusion: ''Czech, German and French... Why not Romanian? Shouldn't I speak Romanian? Or is it Russian?'' Then he drifted off into sleep.

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In a few hours the police returned. ''I'm inspector Murphy. I need to speak with one of your patients. The man who was found at the docks.''

''So you decided to open the investigation? That's great. Unfortunately I still don't think it's a good idea to disturb him. He suffers from memory loss and is stressed.''

''Memory loss? How convenient,'' inspector Murphy replied.

''Pardon?''

''I can come back later, but frankly, doctor, I don't care who your patient is or what he remembers. For me he is suspected of murder,'' she said.

* * *

 _I would like to ask, honestly - are the time jumps too much, making the storyline incomprehensible, or are there too many OCs, or too much focus on the Czech Republic? ... I can change it, but I have to know what..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the recognizable characters. They all belong to Shane Brennan.

Thank you all for the reviews! And thank you, ClaudiaRain, for beta-reading.

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

 _Tuesday 16th_

Callen – or his alias Michajl Sokolov to be precise – refused the snack a stewardess offered him during the flight to London. He closed his eyes and sincerely wished just one thing – that his headache would stop. Comescu must have hit him with his gun or a vase or a heavy ashtray...

''London,'' he repeated quietly to himself and began creating a plan. Callen just couldn't let Comescu go. _He had a photo of Sam and Kam!_ He was dangerous and very determined so that other attacks in the future couldn't be ruled out.

On top of that he was a Comescu. The desire to get a closure for his family was deeply embedded in the Romanian. Callen could identify with him on this point. He, himself, had dedicated his whole life to the past and search for his family.

 _'Just one flight behind Comescu, means two hours...,'_ Callen mused. _'First things first. A knife and a gun. And Comescu's address.'_ He smiled slightly. He had the same plan in Prague. But the difference was he knew Prague. He had been there many times.

Prague, being in the heart of Europe, was a busy crossroads of criminals from many countries, plus in the 1990s the Russians were more active here than appropriate, so Callen remembered many stake-outs, chases and undercover missions in the city.

In London, MI5 usually wanted to solve every case without the help of foreign agencies, plus NCIS could send any other agent there. His skills, particularly knowledge of languages, made him too valuable to be sent just to London. Central and eastern Europe, Russia and the Middle East were his destinations.

Because Callen didn't know London very well and didn't have any friends there, it took him longer to purchase the gun and find out which hotel Comescu was staying at. It was late and Callen decided that he should try to rest and postpone the confrontation with Comescu to tomorrow. He may even feel a little better by then.

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''Room service? I'd like to order champagne,'' announced a guest from room 618 at a luxurious hotel in the city center.  
He was carefully studying a city map and making notes. _'Buckingham Palace, St Paul's Cathedral, the Tate … might be refreshing … if the damn leg doesn't hurt, I'll go.'_

Already falling asleep he realized: _'I should call Constantin, reassure him that everything is ok, ask what happened with Callen... mhm … not now. Plenty of time tomorrow.'_

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

 _Wednesday 17th_

Soon after Comescu left the hotel he sensed that someone was following him. He didn't look back, he wasn't a beginner, he just slightly quickened his pace and chose streets that weren't too narrow and full of people. Comescu didn't know the city well and his notes about Buckingham Palace and St Paul's Cathedral weren't exactly helping as right now he needed a plan of shortcuts, exits and safe houses.

It astonished him that until now he hadn't thought about who was following him, he just kept going. _'It can't be Constantin. Maybe they found out that I used a fake passport...'_

Callen was still easily following Comescu.

''Damn it!'' They came up to the docks. It front of them was just water and further away some deserted buldings. Comescu had to turn around. Callen didn't have anywhere to hide.

''Callen,'' he was shocked when he saw who was following him.

''Comescu, nice to see you face to face again,'' Callen greeted ironically.

Comescu thought in passing that however tired he was yesterday he definitely should have called Constantin and asked him about Callen, or just killed him when he could. Now, he didn't even have his gun.

''Relax,'' Callen continued in his ironic speech. "You chose such a lovely place where we won't be disturbed in our little chat. I have a lot of questions.''

It was only after the fight in Prague that Callen realized that he didn't know how much Comescu knew about his partner. He said he was completely uninterested in Sam but he had his photo. Someone had to take it and if it wasn't Comescu he had to get it somewhere.

''I'm afraid the little chat can't take place, you need two people: one who's asking and the other one who's willing to answer,'' Comescu said while he was trying to come up with an exit strategy.

''We are two,'' Callen icily replied.  
''Yeah, but the willingness to answer is kinda missing.''

''What do you know about the man in the photo? Where did you get it?'' Callen asked.

Comescu knew Callen had a gun with him. But so far he hadn't threatened him with it and he knew that usually these sarcastic remarks would trigger Callen. He immediately saw an exit strategy.

''I took it. I followed your partner with great pleasure for many days,'' Comescu whispered dangerously.

''No!'' Callen shouted. ''The photo is old, it couldn't be you. Back then you were too green. Nobody would entrust you to do it. You were so unimportant that you weren't even in the beachhouse or in the safe house in Prague. You just hung around,'' Callen provoked him.

In the next moment Comescu gripped Callen's throat tightly and tried to knock him down to the ground.

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Just another fight. They were all similar: hits, kicks, slaps, pain, falls, near misses, adrenaline.

In a tight embrace they were dangerously approaching the water.

It's said that fear provides unusual strength to people. Comescu was badly injured but perhaps he remembered this and suddenly he threw Callen into the canal. The water wasn't deep here and Callen couldn't stop his fall in any way. He landed at the bottom with full force.

Literally he heard how a bone in his leg cracked and then a loud _slosh_. Back on the dock he had probably been clutching at Comescu's jacket so the Romanian accompanied him in the fall into the canal, only Comescu went head first. He fell unconscious and Callen would soon follow him.

Hetty said many times that Callen was a survivor. He, again, proved her right and gathered the last remains of strength and crawled from the water to the safe ground.

After a few hours he was found by two workers going to the docks and was brought to St. Mark's Hospital.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

 _Friday 19th_

''Metropolitan Police Service London,'' an operator announced.

''I... good morning … I'm at the docks … huh …. there's a man here, a body in the water.'' This phone call from a distraught citizen launched the police investigation. And as a result inspector Murphy was now questioning Dr. Nemec.

''I can come back later, but frankly, doctor, I don't care who your patient is or what he remembers. For me he is suspected of murder.''

"Suspected of murder? He was beaten, stabbed and has fractures of both legs, he's a victim,'' he argued.

''That doesn't exclude the possibility that he murdered someone. We went through the reports and apparently your patient was found in the same place as the body. The pathologist says that our victim died on Wednesday.''

''Ok, I believe you. It's your job. But please believe me, I'm a doctor. He's not faking the memory loss. You won't learn anything from him today.''

''Excuse me,'' inspector Murphy answered the phone and heard: ''So I finished the autopsy. Our victim drowned. He was unconscious at the time, most probably as a result of the head trauma. He must have hit the bottom. But no signs that he was actively pushed into the water. And he has a lot of minor injuries as well, cuts, bruises, stab wounds. Some of them appear to be older. He got hurt a day or two before he died.''

''Thanks. Anything for the identification?''

''No, no match.''

''Ok, I'll have the divers search the canal. Maybe he lost some documents, keys, a wallet, whatever, during the fight.''

Antony listened to the phone call in suspense. ''Two unknown men. One injured, one dead I guess.''

''He drowned. The pathologist can't say that he was murdered. But obviously he fought with someone, with your patient I assume...'' Murphy informed him. ''I'll come tomorrow.''

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Nurse Carin told Antony: ''Doctor Nemec, the patient is awake.''

''How are you?'' he asked him.

''I've been worse,'' the patient automatically replied.

''Yeah, I believe you.''

The man didn't start talking about the memory loss so Antony found another topic. ''We should take a look at the wounds and redress them.''

When Antony was probing the stab wound on his shoulder, the patient had a chance to see his own bare chest. His breathing quickened. ''What do you see, what have you remembered?'' Antony asked directly.

''Those scars. I hear: 'Stay with me, G. Don't do this to me. Come on. Stay with me.' But that's all,'' the patient said, voice full of emotions.

''It's a good sign. You'll remember. Traumatic events are sometimes the first ones to return. And we have your nickname, G.''

''It's just a letter,'' he rejected it.

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 _Saturday 20th_

''Stay with me, G. Don't do this to me. Come on. Stay with me.'' he repeated quietly.

 _'I need more, I have to remember. It's not safe,'_ he thought. _'Something happened_ _at_ _the docks. I have to go there.'_ He slowly sat up, the headache was still intense. After pulling off the sheets he grumbled dissatisfied. ''Great, just great.'' His left leg was in a cast up to his hip and his right was put in plaster up to his knee. Soon he realized that it was really impossible to go somewhere.

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''We checked the x-rays again and compared them. You have in fact suffered two concussions. The first one was milder, a few days before the injury on Wednesday. Just give it time, everything will be alright,'' a neurologist assured the patient.

''Yeah, everything will be alright but I need it right now,'' his impatience was showing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the recognizable characters, they all belong to Shane Brennan.

Thank you all for the reviews! And thank you, ClaudiaRain, for beta-reading.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

 _Saturday 20th_

''We've reduced the pain medication, so he's more alert but the memory loss abates slowly. Yesterday he remembered that he had been shot before and someone had urged him to stay awake. This man had called the patient G. It's probably a nickname,'' Antony told inspector Murphy.

''I've read your report. Unless he's the best actor in the world, the memory loss is real. There are interesting details though, English, Russian, Romanian, German, French and Czech. Who is he, a language teacher?'' Murphy conversed with Antony.

"Have you ever seen a language teacher fighting with someone so hard that he suffers a concussion? A teacher who fights again two days later and manages to survive it all? Besides it's not the first time. The gunshot wounds, the number and their position indicate that he had suffered very serious injuries before.''

''Yeah, a little bit too adventurous for a teacher, or a translator,'' Murphy summed up.

''By the way, the divers found a wallet and keys in the canal. They belong to Andrej Grigorescu. Grigorescu was a maiden name of the head of a criminal family in Romania but I don't see how this can help us. Let's see what the patient tells us,'' the inspector decided.

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''I'm inspector Murphy from the Metropolitan Police Service London. We would like to find out what happened at the docks on Wednesday. Do you remember anything?'' she introduced herself.

''No, I don't remember anything,'' he replied shortly.

''Have you ever heard a name – Andrej Grigorescu?''

''Romanian. But no, I haven't heard it, as far as I know. Which isn't very much at the moment,'' he snorted.

''What can you tell me about yourself?''

''I can't... I just … I speak English, German, French, Czech, Romanian and Russian as the doctor can confirm. I can tell you that blue is a good color, that those breakfasts in the hospital suck, that nights are too long, that the crisis in Crimea will last long, that the Marshall Gambit in chess is pretty boring and that rule 18 says it's better to seek forgiveness than ask permission. But I can't fill out a simple form unless you are satisfied with one column and one letter. G,'' the man flared up in frustration.

''You remembered this letter yesterday. Describe to me how,'' it wasn't really necessary but Murphy hoped that maybe he would remember something new or that she could discover how his mind worked. Languages, chess, politics, possible insomnia, rules – they could stand for training, some sort of an organization... An interesting mix.

''I saw some scars,'' he slightly touched his chest now covered with pajamas. ''I heard: 'Stay with me, G. Don't do this to me. Come on. Stay with me.''

Antony noticed that the patient used exactly the same words as yesterday. It must have been stored deep down in his brain.

These simple sentences sent shivers down Murphy's spine. She knew this. You desperately scream similar words when your colleague is severely injured and you need to convince him not to give up. She gulped. ''Thank you. I should go and you need to rest.''

''I don't need to rest. I need to know,'' he got angry again.

''Take care of him, I'm almost certain that he's from law enforcement,'' she said to Antony when they left the room.

''It occurred to me, too,'' he agreed.

''We need to be careful. We can't contact all agencies and alert the wrong one. So, assuming he's an English native speaker, we'll send a message to all sorts of law enforcement here in the UK and the US – he has an American accent, and then maybe we contact agengies in Ireland, Australia...'' Murphy said.

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 _Sunday 21st_

''Stay with me, G. Don't do this to me. Come on. Stay with me,'' he repeated relentlessly. It was sunny, he saw a young blond girl and palm trees, heard gunfire and then he saw soft brown eyes pleading with him not to give up.

''Sam,'' the patient whispered in realization. _'Ok, ok, ok, I need to think, I need to focus...'_

''Good morning, how are you?'' Antony greeted the patient.

''Have you ever left the hospital?''

''I'm an attending physician, it's my job to be here, but don't worry, I have shorter shifts next week and two days off.''

''Let's play a game,'' Antony suggested.

''When a patient has to provide a doctor with distraction and entertainment, I'd say there's something wrong with the hospital,'' he protested.

''Just say the first thing that comes to your mind. Don't think,'' Antony instructed him.

''That's an activity I'm very good at, right now.'' 

''I like croissants and you,'' Antony started.

\- ''I like … bacon,'' he replied automatically.

''I like white and brown.''

\- ''I like blue.''

''I live in a house.''

\- ''I live... I don't know. It's not important.''

''I was born in the Czech Republic.''

\- ''Black Sea. Why is it only you asking? Can I ask?''

''No, I'm asking, that's the rule.''

\- ''The other one is willing to answer,'' the patient said as if he remembered something.

''Ok, I have a son.''

\- ''I don't, I think.''

''My boss is strict but fair.''

\- ''My boss is tiny but very tough. How do I know that?''

''Don't think. I'm an orthopedic surgeon.''

\- ''I'm special...'' he abruptly stopped. _'Agent,'_ he finished only in his head.

''Sorry to interrupt your game but I'm tired, I want to be alone.''

He suddenly stopped Antony in the door. ''Doctor,'' he addressed him urgently. ''You are very neat, diligent, you are writing reports all the time but you can't write about this little game. Someone is in danger. You can't tell them that I remembered something. Don't say anything even to Murphy, please. I have to deal with it alone.''

''Like you said, this game was just a distraction for a bored surgeon who doesn't have anything better to do. But whatever is going on you shouldn't deal with it alone. Besides you're on bed rest and that's an order - not that you could actually walk out of here...'' Antony said casually and gestured towards the patient's legs.

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As the day advanced he remembered most of the details of his life. _'G. It's not a nickname. That's my name. G Callen. That's it.'_ Since last Saturday everything was foggy, he also didn't know what had happened at the docks. Callen still had a feeling that someone, probably Sam, was in danger because of him. He had to gather information, preferably without inspector Murphy.

''I just have a question. The column 'next of kin' is blank and I thought that maybe you would like to fill it out or contact someone,'' Antony suggested.

Callen was silent.

''Is it that you don't want to or that you can't fill it out? It's a huge difference. I thought that further neurological tests wouldn't be necessary but...''

''They won't, you can call me G,'' Callen yielded.

''Ok, G. I probably don't know all the fine details of your business, I'm just a surgeon... But you obviously don't want to be found so I should probably tell you that inspector Murphy has already noticed all agencies in the UK, the US, Ireland and Australia. Just so you can be prepared...''

Callen was still silent.

He knew that it was Sunday, a calm day, tomorrow however Sam would find out that he was missing. And Eric would undoubtedly read the report from the London police and they'd find him. But he needed to stay in the shadows until he made sure he was no threat for his team.

Certainly, it was unusual to ask Doctor Nemec to play a detective but he didn't have much of a choice. ''What did Murphy tell you about the docks? Yesterday she left quickly and I don't remember whether she was there previously.''

Antony contemplated whether he should tell the patient about the dead man but concluded that he, as a policeman or something, could cope with the news.

''Your injuries show that most likely you fought with someone on Monday or Tuesday... Then they found you at the docks on Wednesday and on Friday someone called the police that there was a dead body in the canal.'' Antony carefully watched his patient. He wasn't frightened and didn't show any signs of surprise, he just quietly analyzed the news.

''The pathologist said that the man drowned. He had documents with him but they were probably fake.''

''Andrej Grigorescu,'' Callen broke in.

''Yes, he also had some keys with him.''

The whole time Callen was tense, sitting upright in bed, focused. Suddenly the tension left his body, he rested on the bed and whispered: ''I got him! Comescu. Sam and Kam are safe.''

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After this Callen didn't say much. Antony noticed that his patient was much more evasive, replaying only vaguely, but the panic Antony could see in his eyes even a few hours ago had receded.

It was one of the rare occasions when Callen just wanted to sleep. ' _They'll come. Everything's ok. Comescu's dead,'_ with these thoughts he fall asleep.

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 _Monday 22nd_

''Callen,'' Sam shouted into the phone. ''Pick up the phone,'' Sam soon realized that there was absolutely no sound on the other side. ''I'll kill him, when I find him,'' he remarked.

Sam glanced at his watch. ' _8.15, mmh, who manages to annoy his boss on the first day_ _after holidays? Callen._ '

Sam parked his car near Callen's house and honked.

Nothing.

He got out of the car and knocked on the door. ''Callen, come on, you are late again. Callen.''

Nothing.

Sam noticed that the mailbox was full of leaflets. Nothing surprising for Callen but still... Sam cautiously looked through a window into the house.

Nothing.

''Callen, G, it's me, open the door. Get up, man,'' Sam knocked on the door again.

Only very reluctantly Sam got in the car and drove to work alone.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you for the reviews! Thank you, ClaudiaRain, for beta-reading. __

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the recognizable characters, they all belong to Shane Brennan.

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

 _Monday, 22nd_

''Mr. Hanna, I'm pleased you have found the right way back to work though you are 21 minutes late!'' Hetty announced. ''I trust Mr. Callen is here as well.''

''He wasn't at home, I called him, but the phone is dead. I don't know where he is,'' Sam reported in short.

''What do you mean, Mr. Hanna?''

''I couldn't reach him on Thursday and I don't know what he got himself into this time,'' Sam sighed.

Hetty resolutely entered the ops center. ''Mr Beale, try to locate Special Agent Callen's phone and car. Find out the last phone calls he had. And look at whether he logged into our network last week.''

''The phone is switched off. Last time when it was active, it was in the area where Callen lives. No hits on the car.''

''He didn't log into our network,'' Nell reported. ''What's going on?'' she asked.

''Zulu-November-Tango-8-9-2-5-4-H, there's a list of Callen's aliases. Check whether it was activated last week. One by one, Miss Jones,'' Hetty ordered.

''Hetty, it everything alright?'' Eric asked uncertainly.

''That's a good question, Mr. Beale.''

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Hetty retreated to her office and prepared herself a cup of tea. Sam paced in the bullpen back and forth.

''Sam,'' Hetty called him and wordlessly gestured at the chair in front of her desk. She poured him a cup of tea.

''Mr. Callen is a survivor,'' she reminded him and herself.

Nell and Eric slowly entered Hetty's office.

''None of his known aliases was used,'' Nell told them.

''No payment with any of his credit cards, no changes to Callen's bank account,'' Eric added.

''Go through the footage of cameras near Callen's house. Upload his photo into the facial recognition program so we can cover airports, ports, cameras on highways, border crossings,'' Hetty instructed them.

''Will do.''

''He disappeared,'' Sam commented on the latest discoveries. ''He's in trouble. He's a magnet for it.''

''He hasn't used the agent-in-distress-button,'' Hetty comforted him.

''Yeah, because he's so good at asking for help.'' Hetty didn't have any answer for this remark so they sat in silence.

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''Uhm, we are still going through the camera footage. It seems that Callen went to the beach on Monday around three in the morning, nothing since then. But that's hardly surprising, he knows where the cameras are...'' Nell said.

''So you are telling me that you have nothing. Equipment for millions of dollars and you have nothing,'' Sam got angry.

''We are still looking, but mhm I may have something,'' Nell announced.

''Come on,'' Sam urged her.

''It's just a shot in the dark, the description is vague,'' Nell hesitated.

''Miss Jones, please tell us,'' Hetty intervened.

''Metropolitan Police Service London sent a notice. They register a victim of a crime who may be a member of law enforcement. Caucasian male, around forty, short brown hair, extensive knowledge of languages, distinguishable marks on the body. The man has suffered a severe concussion and subsequent memory loss. They didn't provide any other information.''

''We have found Callen,'' Sam lit up.

''With a concussion and memory loss,'' Nell added dimly.

''Book two tickets to London, Miss Jones.''

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 _Tuesday 23rd, London_

Antony was approaching his car parked in the hospital compound. His shift had ended and he was really looking forward to his bed.

''We believe you have something that belongs to us,'' he heard from behind.

When he turned around he saw a very small lady and a big dark man. They were so different that Antony almost burst out laughing. However, he stayed serious when he saw a gun behind the man's belt.

''I'll stay optimistic and will believe that this is not a robbery in the middle of a day.''

The strange pair were quiet.

Antony thought that he had experienced quite a lot of strange situations lately, all of them were somehow connected to Mr. Flash drive. _These people were here because of him, probably. Were they also agents, spies?_

Antony quickly recovered and answered: ''Technically, I don't have it... eh him. He is in the ICU, where you'll also find his attending physician.''

''I'm glad that we are on the same page. You've spent more time with our friend than his attending, so we figured that we would discuss the matter with you,'' the woman said.

''The matter is …,'' Antony left the sentence unfinished.

''… our friend, his health and his transport ... home,'' again the woman answered.

Antony shook his head, he had never seen two people so secretive.

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''Thank you, Doctor Nemec, for all the care you provided to your patient. Děkuji.''

''How do you know my name and everything? And do you speak Czech as well?''

But he was asking the air, Hetty and Sam had already left.

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''Everything is settled with the London police, Inspector Murphy was very understanding. NCIS helped her identify the body, though with the wheel-tatoo and fake documents for Andrej Grigorescu they had enough clues,'' Hetty informed Sam when she returned to the hospital.

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Sam entered Callen's room.

''G, what have you done this time? And why? Hetty talked to the London police. Comescu is dead and you are here in the hospital. Can you explain this?''

''I had a lead. I flew to Prague, found Comescu. He fled to London, I followed him. We met in the docks, he wanted to kill me, we fought and we both ended up in the canal. End of story,'' Callen recited.

''End of story? How about calling someone?'' Sam flared up.

Callen pointed to his head. ''Had some trouble remembering your number on top of other things,'' his voice was full of sarcasm.

''No, you won't get out of it that easily. How about calling me _before_ you had this brilliant idea of flying to Prague alone.''

''You were with your family over the holidays.''

''You were supposed to celebrate the holidays too, and stay out of trouble.''

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''There's one thing I don't understand, Hetty. The finger prints. The report says that they've taken Callen's fingerprints. Why weren't we notified? I thought it works that way. I understand that not every tech and policeman is allowed to know our identities but the system should … I don't know, automatically alert someone,'' Sam wondered when he sat with Hetty on the bench in the hospital.

''Indeed, Mr. Hanna, that's how the system works. 'No match' appears on the screen whereas a notification is automatically sent to the Department of Defense. I was also concerned why the system failed, so I called the Minister and demanded answers.''

''You demanded answers from the Minister?'' Sam asked unable to hide a smile.

''Of course, Mr. Hanna, I did. First I don't enjoy being in the dark and second we have to prevent a recurrence of this failure, otherwise our agents can get into difficult positions. It turned out that the office received the notification on the weekend and there was no-one with a sufficient level of security clearance. They couldn't open the encrypted e-mail. How careless of them,'' Hetty explained.

... ... ... ... ... ... ...

''I retrieved a laptop of 'Andrej Grigorescu' that the police found in his hotel room. Eric will analyze it when we return,'' Hetty announced.

''They also found a flash drive, there was only one picture on it. It was you and Kamran,'' she addressed Sam.

''Comescu had a photo of me?'' Sam asked in disbelief.

''Unfortunately, yes, he did. This photo could have convinced Mr. Callen to come to Prague, don't you think? Furthermore it was written directly on the photo: 'I'm sure you'll come and won't inform anyone because you want them to stay alive'.''

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''Soo... the lead we were talking about...'' Sam prompted Callen.

''We weren't talking about it.''

''But we will, Comescu sent you an e-mail with a photo of Kam and me.''

Callen didn't react.

Sam looked at him expectantly.

''Yes. And I flew to Prague, found him, he fled to London, I followed him...''

''Stop it, G. It didn't occur to you that I would like to be informed that my family was in danger?''

''I had it covered. You weren't in any immediate danger. He just wanted my attention.''

''Yeah?''

''I knew you were safe.''

''How could you be so sure?'' Sam asked.

Callen sighed. ''You won't stop until I tell you, right?''

''You bet.''

''I called the hotel you were staying in. I had someone check their security system and keep an eye on you.''

''You were spying on me, G? Why couldn't you just call me?''

''You were celebrating the holidays, Sam. I thought we discussed that already.''

''You are unbelievable,'' Sam stated. ''But thank you, G.''


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you all for reading, following, favouriting and above all reviewing. Here's the last short chapter.

Thank you, ClaudiaRain, for beta-reading.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the recognizable characters, they all belong to Shane Brennan.

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

 _Wednesday 24th, Prague_

Constantin watched as five men stealthily breached the safe house in Prague. He laughed in his sleeve. They wouldn't find anything. He cleaned, left it, and he would never return – exactly as he was taught to.

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 _London_

''I've sent an NCIS team stationed in Paris to Prague to search the safe house. It was empty, completely abandoned, no evidence left, I'm afraid to say,'' Hetty informed Sam and Callen.

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Antony examined Callen before he was discharged and allowed to fly home. ''Haven't you lost track of all the languages you speak?'' Antony asked his patient. He was obviously in better mood and willing to talk a little.

''English, Spanish, German, Italian, French, Russian and a lot of dialects, Pashto, Czech, Romanian, Polish, Arabic... uhm... that's all.''

''That's a lot.''

''Doc, why did I use Czech first? And then German and French?''

''The last clear memory you had was probably from Prague. So when you woke up, you spoke Czech. You couldn't remember much, you had a concussion, but your brain probably recognized that languages are easy for you, so you tried this again and again.

Subconsciously, your main goal was to remember, and the languages helped. You wondered once why didn't you speak Russian or Romanian – and during our little game you told me that you came from the Black Sea. So you were right before you knew it,'' Antony clarified.

''You know a lot. Do you remember everything I've said?''

''Oh, not at all, if that's what is required,'' Antony replied carefully.

''You are learning the spy stuff very quickly,'' Callen noticed.

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''I flew to Prague, I followed him to London,'' Sam quoted Callen.

''Nell and Eric had a hard time searching for you. We didn't even see how you left the house after you came from the beach. Being paranoid is one thing but how could you leave the country unnoticed?'' Sam asked with great interest.

''An alias,'' Callen revealed just as much as he had to.

''Nell and Eric checked all of them.''

''Michajl Sokolov, Russian lawyer, it seemed appropriate. I had this alias prepared just in case... You never know when such an alias comes in handy.''

''A spare frying pan comes in handy, yes, a teakettle, yes, a few hundred dollars, definitely. But I don't know anyone who has a few aliases prepared just in case... Except for you, of course.''

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 _Friday 26, Los Angeles, ops_

''Mr. Beale, Ms. Jones, what do you have?'' Hetty asked resolutely.

''We took the laptop to pieces, metaphorically speaking. We found some evidence about his criminal activities,'' Eric began.

''We've already informed the Czech and the Romanian police,'' Nell told Hetty.

''But there was nothing related to Callen. Only the photo of Sam and Kam,'' Eric continued. ''We were able to hack Comescu's e-mail. He received this photo from an unknown person by e-mail.''

"On the same day he authorized this payment to an account in Switzerland,'' Nell showed the evidence on the screen. ''Swiss banks don't cooperate, they won't tell us the identity of the account's owner.''

Eric had a more positive message: ''Fortunately, we don't need their cooperation. We read the whole electronic communication between the seller and Comescu. Comescu wanted leverage on Callen and then he wanted assurance that this photo would really work. The seller told him that this came from Keelson's archive. This was good enough for Comescu.''

''Keelson?'' Hetty couldn't hide her surprise.

Nell looked at both of them questioningly.

''A few years ago he sent someone to follow Callen. Then he tried to blackmail him. Callen shot him, he also found his sister, that's another story. Keelson had a huge archive filled with secrets of many, many people. He had one full box on Callen,'' Eric explained.

''The archive was destroyed by an explosion. Electronic data was deleted by a bug,'' Hetty added.

''We believed that Keelson's only accomplice was Carl Browning and he was murdered by Akbari... He had to have another accomplice. Find him now,'' Hetty ordered.

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''The evidence is five year old, lists of phone calls, account statements, credit cards... But it looks like Browning was in contact with Sergej Murajev, a Russian ex-pat, suspected of blackmail and death threats, never convicted. Without Keelson's knowledge maybe they stole a backup of the electronic version of his archive. Or they copied some of the real documents...'' Nell explained.

''So Comescu contacted Murajev and got Callen's e-mail address and a photo of Sam. Well done, Eric, Ms Jones. We'll pay Mr. Murajev a visit soon.''

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''We dug deep,'' Eric began.

''Really deep,'' Nell broke in.

''Yes, really deep. Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honor to tell you that Gracian Comescu was the last living Comescu,'' Eric announced.

''They are all dead,'' Nell confirmed.

''There's still Ilena Vadim in South America, Dracule's cousin,'' Callen said.

''You ruined my announcement. She's not a criminal and Comescus are criminals. All of them are dead,'' Eric rephrased.

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 _Prague_

''Pavel, there's a letter for you,'' Alžběta said to her son. He opened the letter.

 _''Dear Pavel,  
if you read this letter, it means that we can't meet again. But don't be sad. We had a great time together. Now, I want to tell you a story. A story that started in WWII and I also want to tell you something about a little boy on the beach in Romania... Now, you have a great responsibility. I also want to pass a task on you. You are the last person who can successfully complete it...''_


End file.
